Why The Rainbows Make Me Cry
by LightningsShadow118
Summary: "It ain't fuckin' funny, so quit fuckin' laughin' about it — you don' know what happened."
1. Prologue

**~Author's Notes~**

I've read a good few origin stories for TF2 on how the Team was recruited/commissioned/etc... But I haven't found too many origin stories that try to explain the mysteries behind how the mercenaries came to be who they are. These little gems, I think, are the most interesting things about them. So, I decided to start my own little Origin series.

As you may know, one of the Spy's domination lines against Scout is, "May I borrow your earpiece? 'This is Scout; _Rainbows_ make me _cry!_ Over!'" Which naturally made me wonder. If Spy wasn't making it up, and rainbows really _did_ make Scout cry... then why? No better man to tell the story than the man himself, right?

I hope you enjoy this, and if you like it, then please comment. I always love hearing what people think of my stories, and I also appreciate and listen to any critiques I get. (Comments also motivate me to write, so if you want to help me to finish sooner...!) Thank you again, and enjoy!

**~Author's Notes~**

* * *

The fire crackled and licked at the air, throwing soft, heated light across the mercenaries' faces. The men sat together 'round the campfire, smoking and joking and swapping stories without a worry in the world. The night was young, and tomorrow held new adventures and gruesome battles for the whole team, so they figured, why the hell _not_ enjoy a little old fashioned time together?

Pyro and Scout had a couple of metal pokers over the flames, roasting tender hot dogs and fluffy marshmallows for s'mores and a casual dinner. Engineer had his acoustic guitar in hand, heartily strumming a southern melody whilst Sniper played to the beat with his lap drum, making very pleasant, laid-back campfire music. Medic listened to the rhythm with a sort of reverence, and let it carry him away with content eyes shut. Demoman, Heavy, and Soldier were comparing war stories, trying to prove who had endured through the worst circumstances, who had escaped death by the thinnest hair. Spy was sitting by himself, dress coat off, white sleeves of his undershirt rolled up to his elbows, staring into the fire as if it were a code he couldn't quite decipher.

Scout pulled his skewers out of the flames, finding a strange little joy in blowing out the blackened, crispy marshmallows. "Alright Pyro, I'd uh, I'd say these bad boys're done."

"Mm, vrry nrrce! Hrrr," Pyro extracted buns, graham crackers, and chocolate bars from behind the log they sat on. The two set about preparing their snacks.

"Ah wus craddlin' me eyeball, Ah sey! Like this!" Demoman held his hand up to his face. "Tha' bloodeh thing wus still attached buy a few nerves, and ah'll tell yah now, ah don't think ah've felt a pain stronger than tha' of yer own eyeball lollopin' aboot in the open."

Heavy tapped his chin. "Perhaps pain of thousand bullets piercing flesh? Is very bad. Pain runs deep, strikes soul. Worse if have to see teammates taking bullets as well."

"You cupcakes think you know pain! You know _NOTHING_ of pain until you've had to shovel your own intestines back into your own—!"

"It never happened, Soldier," Spy muttered, not even bothering to glance at the self-proclaimed sergeant. "So please, stop telling ze story as if it did."

Solder looked like a furious balloon on the brink of popping before Sniper off-handedly intervened. "Aw, quit knockin' 'im, Spy. Digger want's to tell his story, let 'im. It's a good listen."

Spy snorted, but didn't retort.

Scout held up the hot dog plates. "Yo, who's hungry?"

Engineer paused in his strumming. "Ooh. Pass a couple o' those doggies my way, son."

"I'll have one, too," Sniper chimed, placing his drum beside him.

Scout sent the plates around. "Try em. I think Pyro's onto som'n with these."

"Hrrr, thrrrks Scrrrt. Rr trry," Pyro waved off. Sure, he knew how a flame worked on food, but the skill wasn't anything special. Pyro didn't think so, at least.

Heavy caught himself eyeing the dogs as they moved around the circle. His stomach voiced it's own personal opinion on the luscious-looking food.

"Could leetle man pass three?"

"Yeah, sure thing, big guy."

Scout didn't mind Heavy calling him 'Leetle man' off the battlefield. It was almost — though Scout would never dream of admitting it to anyone — _nice_ that the not-so-gentle giant had a nickname for him. It meant that Heavy respected him a little, right? At least, respected what Scout did as a member of the team. As long as Heavy didn't do anything stupid, like pat him on the head or something, Scout didn't mind.

The Russian accepted his plate graciously.

Scout glanced over his shoulder at Spy. When he called to the older man his eyes were joking, but his tone was earnest.

"Yo, Frenchie, you want anything?"

"I do not eat hot dogs, boy."

There was tinge of venom in his voice, which Scout recognized as deep annoyance. Dude was clearly pissed about something that had happened on the battlefield that day. Something that, perhaps, had happened multiple times in succession.

Scout wasn't the comforting type when it came down to how his teammates felt about this or that. He did, however, hold as much respect for Spy as he felt for everyone else on the team, and didn't enjoy seeing him carry nasty vibes on his shoulder hours after the fight was over and done with. He figured he could make an exception this once.

Scout sat himself back down, grabbed a plate from the plastic sleeve by Pyro, bunned a hot dog, gave it a thin line of ketchup, and then put together a fresh s'more with a little extra chocolate. He then took the plate to Spy and parked himself right beside the Frenchman, plate offered openly. Spy flicked his eyes to the food, then back at the fire, shaking his head.

"C'mon man. Eat som'n. You know what Doc says about skippin' meals." He nudged the plate a little closer.

"I do not care what ze doctor says, Scout."

"C'mon... Can't go backstabbin' Snipers on an empty tank, right?"

From across the fire, Medic snorted. It was weak humor, but Scout was trying. Still, no reply, no glance.

"A'ight, a'ight, I'll bite. What happened; Pyros got ya down—"

"NO, Scout!" Spy shouted abruptly and shot up. All heads turned his way.

"Ze Pyros do _not_ 'got me down'; it is _you!_ It was zat fucking _Scout!_ Every time I pulled out a mask, he's zere; every time I cloaked and snuck through zeir base, he is zere; every time I go to sap ze dispensers, _he is fucking ZERE!_ Ugh, I wanted to _murder_ him; I wanted to _wring zat little, scrawny neck of his!_"

Scout put his hands up. "Whoa, whoa, hey now—"

"But I could not do it! Because everywhere I turn, I was met wiz a metal bat. I did not even get ze time to react! It was as if zat annoying twit was after _me, personally!_"

"'Ey! I resent that!"

"Mon dieu," Spy finally fell back into his seat, head in hands. "Dominated by a twelve-year-old rabbit. Who cries every time he zees a _rainbow!_ I was dominated by a fruit cup!"

Demoman knew that now wasn't the time, he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He tried stifling his laughter unsuccessfully, which wound up egging Soldier into laughing too, then Sniper, then Pyro, and pretty soon everyone was laughing their asses off.

Except Scout.

They were all laughing at him. Oh, they wouldn't say it, they'd slap him on the back, tell him to loosen up, grab a drink, quit havin' such a stick up his ass. They'd make it out to be Spy's wording they were laughing at, the whole predicament in general, of just how stupid it was that a Scout, of all classes, had dominated Spy.

His lips never even twitched upwards.

The laughter began to die down. Oh, man, the things running through Scout's head. Oh, the things he could say, the obscenities that waited on the tip of his tongue, the venom he so desperately wished he could spit into their eyes. He'd tried to be nice to Spy, tried to be the pal everyone knew he wasn't, and this was the thanks he got.

"Fuck you, Spy."

The Frenchman looked at the man with amused, semi-interested eyes.

"It ain't fuckin' funny, so quit fuckin' laughin' about it — you don' know what happened."

"Oh ho ho? You mean to say zat zere is a _story_ behind zis rainbow-phobia?"

Scout leered into the fire, trying to tune out the chuckles that seemed to surround him. In those bitter blue eyes, Spy suddenly saw a flicker of an emotion he'd never seen in the man before. A small voice within him genuinely wondered if something traumatic had happened. But honestly, how bad could it have been? They were talking about _rainbows,_ for heaven's sake.

As pissed as Scout was, as bad as he wanted to bash Spy's head in for making light of his gut-jerk reaction to the organic spectacles, he kept himself in check. He wasn't a kid; he could be reasonable if the situation really called for it. And besides, it was about time they knew. He was sick of being thought of as a teenager. A pussy of a teenager. He was fucking twenty-two, for God's sake.

He looked up from the fire and began his story.


	2. Part 1

"Back at home, things were hard, a'ight? You gotta understand that. It wasn't always that way, but once you cross that line, there ain't no goin' back.

"My family lived in the suburbs. Y'know, the poor part. Police sirens every night, gangs all over the place, ya get it. My dad was a good guy, but he didn't have solid education an' couldn't hold onto a job longer than a couple months. Ma worked nights on and off, but she never told us what she did. Still won't tell us, but it don't matter, it payed.

"But yeah, we were dog-shit poor. We lived in an apartment with a broken heater, which sucked at winter 'cuz then me an' my brotha's all had to sleep in the same room like eight gay sardines all cramped up together on the floor—"

"Is zere a point to zis, Scout, or are you simply begging for pity now?"

"Shut the hell up, Frenchie! I'm gettin' there.

"But, yeah. We were cramped, and we didn't get dinner most of the time. An' when we did get good dinner it wasn't legit, if you know what I'm sayin'. Dad lied about it all the time, but c'mon, no one just 'throws away' a perfectly good chicken. That's probably why most of my brotha's still went to high school; there was a baseball team, and there was food.

"The baseball team was all that got me through high school. It's the only reason I put up with the dumbass teachers, an' their dumbass homework, because I fuckin' _love_ baseball, an' I didn't wanna get kicked off the team for failin'. None of us did. We did our shit, an' then we packed up an' walked down to the, ah, to this park right off Atlantic Ave., what was it—Christopher Columbus Park, that was it. Gay-ass name, but had a fuckin' sweet diamond. And yeah, we'd play for hours, 'til the sky got that weird technicolor thing goin', with the purple clouds, an' the orange sky. But yeah, anyways.

"So we practice out there, and we usually get the park to ourselves at night 'cuz it's right next to the harbor which is right next to the ocean, and it gets cold as fuck out there, but we don't care 'cuz we're goddamn baseball junkies an' that's how we _roll._ But one night we show up, and there's some guys out there already usin' the diamond. No big deal, right? We figure, hey, maybe we can practice with these guys, break the routine a little. So we talk to 'em; turns out they're the pricks from Liberty High's baseball team. They kill us every time we play 'em, an' they're always so fuckin' cocky about it, too.

"My big brotha' Mike don't like sharin' his stuff with pricks, so he gets all up in their faces, tells 'em to kindly be fucking off and finding their own diamond 'cuz this one's ours; we was there first. Well they're guy, Nathan White, he gets all up in Mike's face sayin' that we wasn't there an hour ago, so finders keepers. Mike starts gettin' a little pissy, says that we've been practicin' here since middle school, it's our turf, we ain't lettin' no Liberty chumps use our shit, all that. Then one of their other guys said som'n, I don't remember what, but it pissed off my other brotha' Vince like you would not _believe,_ and before I know it, boom, he's at his neck like a fuckin' beast.

"Now I'm thinkin' hell yeah, let's kill these Liberty fagolas, but Mike and their guys start try'na pull Vince off'a the other guy, so that ain't happenin'. Once Vince cools down, Mike tells 'em we don't want no trouble, just our fuckin' diamond back. They huddle up, talk, an' agree to leave. It was a little weird though, 'cuz it had an edge to it. Like, 'fine, whatever, but you'll get yours'. We didn't care; we got the diamond, showed them Liberty fags who the real players were here, an' way to go Vince for scarin' 'em off an' all but seriously, we don't want _him_ pickin' fights because last time he wound up in court for it. An' he's our best slugger so we ain't lettin' that shit go down again.

"Well about two weeks pass an' we don't see those Liberty fags in our park again. We're steppin' up our game an' we win the next two games we play. Mom's been makin' a bit more than usual, so not only is the rent clear for the month, but we get the first decent, totally legit dinners we've had in a while. The Liberty fags show up here an' there, but we kick 'em to the curb. Our fuckin' turf, man, and they don't put up much of a fuss over it, which is weird I guess because the other schools tell stories about what happens to people that screw around with the Liberty baseball team that give me chills, but whatever. Life's lookin' good for a while.

"October rears its ugly head, and the Liberty fags come with it. We catch 'em usin' our diamond again one night, only this time there's a cop car parked close by. Apparently, Nathan didn't like us defending what's fuckin' ours to begin with, and went bitchin' to his dad. Who happens to be the Police Chief, by the way. My more reasonable brotha', Derek, he tries talkin' with them, tryin' to pull some kinda diplomacy compromise let's-all-be-friends-and-talk-about-our-feelings bullshit which they ain't havin', and neither am I, to be honest. Anyone who has to drag the fuckin' heat into som'n is a raw pussy.

"I'm pissed as hell, we're all pissed as hell. We can't try nothin' 'cuz there's his cop of a dad, sittin' right there watchin' us, waitin' for one of us to snap so he can throw the cuffs on us. I, personally, don't care what his fag dad does to me, but the guys say no way, Ma an' Dad needs us more than we need the diamond. The Liberty fags get our diamond, and we get nothin' but a long walk home. An' nobody says a goddamn thing.

"Around the end of October, Ma starts getting the coughs. It's the bad kind, too, like when they hunch over and you can _hear_ their throat gettin' ripped up? I know, it's like a hangover, but in your throat instead of your skull. Anywho, Ma's coughin' every day, an' she's loosin' her voice. We can't afford no doctor so we take her to Mrs. Gibus on the first floor of our complex. Real sweet black lady, kinda fat, who makes these frickin' _amazing_ cookies for us after a big game, but hell if I'm screwin' with her shit when she gets mad. She sounds like one of those preachers when she's pissed, which makes me laugh so hard I can't breathe, but I can't do that around her or she'll hit me upside the head so hard my stars'll see stars. That's probably why most white people stay the hell away from her; she'll knock your teeth out of you try pushin' her around.

"But anyway, yeah, Mike and I take Ma down to Mrs. Gibus because she knows all kinds of home remedies for stuff like this. She brings us inside, sits Ma down, whose fist looks stuck in front of her mouth, 'cuz it's always there. Mrs. Gibus shakes her head, does that little number, 'Mmm! Mmm, mmm, Lord have mercy,' and starts pullin' out these garlic buds from her kitchen and gives one of the little slivers to her. Tells her to smell it, drink in the fumes. Ma can't stand the stench, and neither can Mike and I, but Mrs. Gibus says it'll help so we hang tight. Ma's coughin' harder, but she tries her damnedest to keep smellin' it. Mrs. Gibus tells me to go get another clove, but when I go in there I hear Ma hurl and Mike shoutin' 'Holy fuck!' and Mrs. Gibus shoutin' 'Good God!' which means it's really bad if she's not even slappin' Mike for cussin', so I come runnin' back, and I swear guys, I almost fuckin' died right there, 'cuz, I mean, there was red. Like, all over the table, all over the floor, all over Ma's chin.


	3. Part 2

"... So... Ma's in the hospital, but we got no fuckin' clue how we're gonna pay for it. I mean, hell, we can barely afford the monthly rent! Lucky for us, Joey's been datin' the Hospital Head's daughter for about a year, so they pull a couple strings for us. Thank God for Joey, man.

"Since Ma made all the money, we all had to start gettin' part-time jobs. Dad wound up landin' a job unloadin' stock crates for the local supermarket. Vince an' Mike wound up workin' at the local movie joint, and Derek got himself a spot at the ice cream parlor. Er, wait— no, I think Mike got the ice cream job an' Derek was with Vince at the theatre. Well, wait, that can't be right 'cuz Vince always came home with sticky hands. Although I guess that could've been from spillin' the slushies everywhere—"

"Scout, does it matter?"

"Hey, no, you. Koala-for-brains. Shut up. I'm tellin' the story he'e."

"..."

"Anywho, so... yeah. We're all bustin' our asses to pay Ma's medical bills. I tried my damnedest to get a job, but the best I got was workin' a register. Not much, but hell, it was somethin'.

"I didn't tell nobody, but I didn't get much sleep for about a week after I saw Ma's insides on the floor. When I did, I had nightmares. Bad ones, too. Like, the kind you wake up screamin' from. I think I actually did that once, too. Woke up the whole floor, I think. Wasn't a good day.

"But yeah. Things got rough for us. All the money we make's for Ma's bills, so we got next-to-nothin' to pay the rent with. Our landlord knows what happened and understands what we're goin' through, so he cuts us a little slack which we're grateful for, but that slack ain't gonna last forever and we know it. It's 'cuz Ma's a great person an' always manages to get the rent in on time, but it's only 'cuz'a dat.

"Mike an' I go back to the hospital to find out what happened. Doc tells us Ma has stomach ulcers."

Medic closed his eyes and shook his head knowingly, muttering, "Geschwüre. Tsk Tsk... Schreckliche Sachen."

Scout didn't pretend to know what he'd said and continued.

"Mike looked at me when he heard that, then got all head-in-hands depressed. Like he was _expecting_ it to be ulcers, or some shit. I didn't know what the hell they were talkin' about, so the doc told me. Holes in her stomach. I didn't flip, but I almost did. Then he told us the rest. Ma had taken up smoking a couple months ago, which is what started the ulcers. Stress made 'em worse. Mike an' I did the math after our serious case of 'what the hell?' wore off. Sure enough, it was a month ago when she started gettin' the coughs. Seemed like the right amount of time for any smoke to start kickin' in. But we was confused as hell. We'd never seen Ma touch a cigarette once. Doc showed us the X-rays, though, in case we didn't buy it.

"He told us that it was curable, the ulcers, but it would take a ton of drugs. Ma could come home, but she'd be in bed for a long time. Mike an' I were glad to hear Ma was okay and comin' home an' all, but when we looked at each other, man, I could almost hear the fucks runnin' though his head. Drugs ain't cheap, and we needed a shit-ton of 'em.

"We bring Ma home, safe an' sound. First thing everyone does is smother her in hugs, 'cuz thank God she's alive, an' we all thought she was a goner. She kinda laughs, but it's real quiet 'cuz she's still hurtin'. Dad holds her, gets all gushy with her, an' she still looks tired as hell but she's happy, and so's Dad. I hadn't even realized how little time they get together. Ma's got us in the morning, an' work all night, an' Dad's always either at his job, or lookin' for one. With Ma home all the time, even if she's got a Swiss-cheese stomach, they'll finally get some quality time together. Stupid as it sounds, it actually made me feel pretty good. Ma won't be alone most of the day, now.

"Mrs. Gibus pays us a visit when she hears Ma's back an' alright. Old woman's been worried dizzy since she saw her puke blood. We let her in, an' when she sees Ma she hugs her and starts cryin', but without the tears. She grabs Ma's hand in her own, says somethin' about how pale she looks, how horrible it is that somethin' so awful should happen to Ma 'cuz she's a good woman an' works so hard for us. Mike tells her about the ulcers, an' she slaps a hand over her chest, all scared. She shakes her head an' says 'I knew it, lawd, I knew it! These boys have gotcho run ragged, Martha! They've done pushed you to yo wits end! Y'all should be ashamed'a yo'selves, runnin' yo poor mother straight to her death bed. Lawd Jesus.' But then she says somethin' else, an' I don't really hear, or maybe I did but I just don't know what the hell she meant, an' she waddles out of our apartment. She comes back with a little shiny purse; the kind that, like, shine every color of the rainbow everywhere when you put it in the sun an' move it. She opens that thing an' pulls out a _wad_ of cash. I mean, I was like, 'holy shit, woman! That's a lot of cash!' But then she slapped me an' I had to shut up.

"She gives my Dad the roll an tells him that was her dead grandma's money, an' even though it wasn't much, grandma always believed in helpin' out friends any way she could. It was for the drugs, an' nothin' else. Told Ma to get plenty of rest, an' call if she needed anything. Then she left.

"We didn't say nothin'. Dad just stared at the money, all wide-eyed, an' brought it to Ma. They both looked at it, and then they hugged each other an' cried. We all cried, I think. We could afford Ma's drugs, an' she was gonna be okay.

"We had enough of each drug to last her a month, with a little left over. We kept workin' though. Barely had time for schoolwork, and baseball wasn't even in the picture anymore. Burned me up somethin' fierce, that did. Those Liberty fags were probably messin' up our diamond. Fuckin' pricks. It shouldn't have irritated me so bad in hindsight, but... _goddamn,_ it was fuckin' _Liberty!_ Any other high school, maybe, but _not fuckin' Liberty._

"That ate my ass for days. I couldn't focus half the time. Takin' tests at school, ringin' up some guy at the store, homework, I couldn't shake it. Walkin' home was worst, though, 'cuz I had to pass our diamond on the way. It would always be empty, but I knew. I fuckin' knew who'd be there in a few hours. That diamond was everything to me, man. I learned how to swing on that thing! It was, like, where my _life_ began. And those Liberty fags were just prancin' all over it. All over my life.

"Then, I finally snapped."


	4. Part 3

"I started makin' the plan in February an' had it ironed out by April, just in time for baseball season.

"I waited for a school day to hit with light homework. Knocked it all out in class, then after school I took a shortcut home. Used a pay phone on the street, called in sayin' I wouldn't be able to make it to work. Boss said it was fine, I'd earned a day off. Walked my way home like normal, got to the apartment before my brotha's for once. Dropped my stuff an' ran to dig my bat out from our gear closet fast as I could, 'cuz I knew I didn't have too much time. Ma asked if I could get her another blanket while I was up, so I did. She saw the bat an' asked me where I was goin'. Told her my boss gave me the day off so I was gonna go dust off my battin' hand before baseball season started up, an' no, I wasn't goin' practicing with Mike, why the hell would I be, an' yes all my homework's done, thanks Ma, an' sure, I'll wear a coat, why the hell not, an' yes, I know there's a storm on the way, I'll be fine, an' _no,_ I won't stay out too long, promise, an' _yes,_ I'll be careful, love you too, Ma, bye.

"Ma was right, storm clouds're comin' from the left, but no big deal. I'm walkin' back to the diamond with this itch in my wrist. I can feel it in my bat, too, weird as that sounds. I've had it before, usually right before a big game. It means I wanna hit somethin', an' I wanna hit somethin' fuckin' _hard._ My bat feels a little lighter than usual, but I'm thinkin' it's the itch. The itch gives you a fast swing, right? 'Course it does. Which is good, 'cuz I'm'unna need to be fast as _hell_ for what I'm 'bout to do to those Liberty fags.

"An' I wasn't jus' doin' it for me, a'ight? I mean, I was pissed about not bein' able to play in forever, but it wasn't just me. It was, frickin', Mike, Johnnie, Derek, Chris, Vince, Joey, Greg... we were all eight of us pissed off. I just didn't get why Mike an' Chris stopped Vince from tearin' 'em up that one time. They're usually jumpin' for the first punch. I mean, that's _kinda_ why I got to runnin' in the first place, an' now here they don't even _wanna_ start som'n. I wasn't havin' that shit, not this time. Maybe _they_ didn't have the nuts to take on Liberty, but it ain't my fault they listen to stupid rumors. It's not like they're real or anythin'. But anyways.

"So I'm walkin' an' then I get to the diamond... an'... Christ..."

Scout shut his eyes and let his head fall into his hands. Some of them looked up at the abrupt movement. Moments passed before Scout spoke again, and when he did he didn't look up immediately.

"Ho-ly shit... Guys, our fuckin' diam– they _killed_ our fuckin' _diamond._ Like, here: the whole fuckin' park's soggy an' gross, right? Y'know, like it _should_ be in the middle of fuckin' April after two rainstorms that week. But I get there – the grass is green as a fuckin' _crayon,_ the dirt's new an' _un-frickin'-touched,_ the bases're all white an' shiny an' _clean,_ the chain-link ain't rusty, ain't got no holes torn through it, an' the mound's, like... _not flat;_ it's a fuckin' _mound_ again!"

There was a brief silence when Heavy chose to hesitantly raise his hand. "But, leetle man say Liberty kill diamond. Dese tings sound... very good."

"_The Hell they are!_ Liberty destroyed every-fuckin'-thing that made that diamond _ours!_ All the channels in the dirt, the scuff marks an' bald patches in the grass, the torn-up bases with dirt caked all over 'em, the busted wires from that _one_ lucky curve ball Johnnie threw back in '55 an' we didn' stop talkin' about it for like, two whole weeks — it-it was all gone! Just, gone! Like none of it even happened! They had the school throw, like, some fun'raiser or some shit, an' fuck up the diamond to wipe us off it!

"See, that's how shit works. If it don't look used, it's fair game until someone scuffs it or som'n. You dent it, it's yours; it's got you on it. Diamond had us on it, so it _was_ ours. Now? We can't defend it no more! Our 'us' is gone!"

Scout clenched his face in his hands roughly, a mixture of fury and misery pulsing through his body. It wasn't the full emotion, not as it had been that day, years ago, but it was enough to make his shoulders tremble. The unconscious action didn't go unnoticed by his teammates.

"It was all we fuckin' had, man..."

After a few long, fraught moments, Scout took a deep breath and sat back up, face sobered and grim.

"I look up an' see a couple cars pull up to the side of the road. Nice cars, prob'ly Fords. Two guys come outta each, an' Nathan White's one of 'em. They shut the doors, wave g'bye to whoever the hell's drivin', then turn an' see me an' stop. I look right at Nathan, an' for a moment, _just_ a moment, he looks at me like, of _course_ I showed up, he knew I'd be here, pleasant surprise. _That_ pissed me off.

"But, I played it off cool. Nodded to 'em, swung my bat over my shoulders, asked 'em how things were goin', all that junk. They were givin' me sideways looks, Nathan was sizin' me up, but they said things were goin' well. I'm watchin' their cars the whole time out the corner of my eye, waitin' for 'em to get the hell outta dodge, an' they do. I ask how practice's been goin', they say it's been pretty great. I said great, that's real great, but the storm's gettin' closer so the thunder cuts me off.

"Then Nathan comes outta nowhere an' asks if I 'like what his school's done with the diamond'. It didn't _sound_ like anythin' bad, but I saw it in his fuckin' face. He knew _exactly_ what I thought about their fuckin' patch-job. He stole our diamond by our own fuckin' rules. I hated him worse'n I've hated _anyone_ since that day. Jesus... I _hate_ when they play by the fuckin' rules!

"Could'a messed up my bat, I was wringin' its neck so hard. But, hey, I didn' do nothin' yet. Four'a them, one'a me, I wasn't that stupid. To be serious, though, I wasn't expectin' there to be four of 'em, so I had t'kinda... change things up a bit. I _wanted_ to crack his skull in, an' I wanted to do it when all his little buddies could see, but, y'know, they'd kick my ass, so... Yeah. Plan B.

"I asked Nathan if I could, y'know, have a li'l one-on-one with 'em. He got that 'of couse' look on his face again, _fuckin' Nathan,_ but he said sure an' told his guys to go 'head without him. They kinda laughed, but they get stretchin' anyway. They're eyein' me as they stretch, too, like, y'know, they don't _think_ I'll do anythin' stupid, but I could.

"I walk us closer to the trees as it starts drizzlin' so it's just him an' me, can't believe I was thinkin' I could _talk_ him outta this, but I get in close an' I go, 'Look White, I dunno what made you guys wanna start usin' our field, but here's the thing. You guys? Are from a whole 'nother side'a Boston, an'a whole 'nother place in, like, the world. You can't, jus', like, take our shit. An' I know whatche' thinkin' but listen a'ight? You guys – I saw those cars a'yours, an' they don' look too cheap. You guys _got_ shit. You got a _lotta_ shit. You know what I got? I got a glove, a bat, a ball, an' that's about it. Like, that's _all._ My brotha's an' I ain't got too much other'n baseball gear. We ain't got money. Hell, we barely got an apartment. What the hell happened to your other diamond that you can't use _it?_ 'Cuz this diamond? This park? It's the only thing we _know_ we have out here. This is where _Cambridge_ practices at. We don' want you Liberty fags on our turf, we don't want you _'fixing'_ our turf, we just want our fuckin' diamond back, 'cuz it's the only diamond we got. So if you could just, y'know, take you an' your guys back to–' an' then I remember, Liberty's one'a those fancy schools that's got it's _own_ diamond. I say, 'wait a sec, don't you guys have your own fuckin' diamond? Use that one! What the hell're you doin' with our shit when you got your own in your fuckin' backyard!'"

Scout paused, took a deep breath, let his head drop lightly, and touched his hands together. His words were slow and deliberate.

"Okay... I'm not, an _unreasonable person,_ most'a the time. I know that... y'know, us guys have fun screwin' with each other. Sometimes we screw around a little, sometimes we screw around a lot. I've fucked with my brotha's plen'y'a times, an' God knows they've fucked my shit up just as bad for it. But... when it's... when it's _baseball,_ an' how we _play it..._ an' you start fuckin' with _that...?_ When you fuck around _that bad_ with mine _an'_ my brotha's home plate... for _shits'n giggles... That_ is the fuckin' line an' Nathan White crossed it so hard it— Rrrgh!" Scout clenched his fists and forced himself to keep talking.

"That's what he said. He said their own fuckin' diamond wasn't _interesting_ an' didn't have a fuckin' _view_ like the one in our park, an' that ours was ten times _nicer_ an' it'd be _just perfect_ as their _new fuckin' diamond_ once they — _cleaned the slum-scum off...!_"

Scout clenched his jaw tight, fists shaking. The man looked like he was about to snap, right there in front of them all. Spy found himself edging away from him, just in case.

But Scout didn't snap. He unclenched his fists, loosened his jaw, and slowly, carefully breathed. A shadow of a smirk flicked across his lips. He lightly snickered.

Sniper had been listening with an initially arbitrary interest, and had sensed the underlying rage steadily build within Scout. He could feel it radiating in the air around him. But something had just changed within Scout; something deep, subtle. That rage was changing into something much darker and fiercer than what any of them were used to seeing in him, on or off the battlefield. Sniper was intrigued, as were a few other members who had also detected the change. A small voice in Sniper's mind wondered if this same shift had happened that day, years ago.

"I always thought it was funny," Scout spoke, "how Liberty would act all cocky after every game they played. They didn't go throwin' jabs left an' right like we did, but it was in their faces. They walked with this real showy attitude an' real thin sneers. They thought they knew us. They thought they knew exactly what was gonna happen. They thought they had seen _every_ trick in the book. The Liberty team thought it was _un-frickin'-touchable._"

Scout chuckled. It wasn't his normal laugh. There was no joy in it.

He didn't speak for a while. His eyes beamed into the fire, and he seemed to see something inside the crackling blaze that none of the others could or ever would. For a moment he was no longer sitting on a log with eight other mercenaries, but he was back in Boston on the Christopher Columbus Park baseball diamond five years ago, doing something horrible to Nathan White.

Scout's silence, like his smile, grew unsettling. A sobered Demoman spoke up.

"Didjeh bash'im upsuide th'head, then?"

Scout laughed, straightened, and shook his head.

"Nah, man, he would've survived that."

Demoman's eyebrows flew up, unsure of what he'd heard but too intrigued by its implications to rush the story along with questions.

Scout kept smiling that wide, off-kilter grin as he went on.

"He thought it was nothin' but a playing field, or a piece of real estate, or whatever th' hell rich kids think when they see som'n they want. He didn't care about the diamond, he jus' wanted his guys to look good while practicin'. Now Nathan had a pretty good swingin' hand, I'll give'm that, but he didn' know _nothin'_ about baseball. Not like we did. If he knew baseball, if he _played_ baseball like we did, he'd'a been fine on his own fuckin' turf.

"When he looked at me an' told me with those cocky-ass eyes'a his that he asked his school to do some volunteer shit for the park an' 'fix' our place up? Because he _could?_ Fuck it — I lost my shit. I mean, I _lost my shit._ Now... I don't remember too much'a what happened, blind rage an' all; you know how it is, right Soldier? I mean, I remember jumpin'im, takin' the bat to his head at some point an' watchin'im crumble like a frickin' girl, an' I remember gettin' all up on'im an' sluggin'im in the chops, but most everythin' else was a blur. I mean, I was too fuckin' pissed to think about what I was doin'."

Scout paused. "... I _may've_ clocked'im in the temple a couple times."

Medic said nothing, but his mind whirred, guiltily interested in Scout's tale. If the young man had indeed dealt this other youth several blows to the temple, and with enough force (that Medic _knew_ Scout was perfectly capable of dealing), then Nathan White's fate was no mystery to the good Doctor.

"But yeah, so, I'm beatin' his shit in, then next thing I hear the othe' three shoutin' an' runnin' at me, but I'm, like, so frickin' high on adrenaline I'm not even scared. I ain't about to stick around, hell no, but I ain't _scared'a_ those three chuckleheads. I book it like the ground's on fire an' the rain's all in my face an' I'm soaked an' I hear 'em comin' at me like the fuckin' heat but it don't last too long 'cuz they're bank account's down bleedin' in the dirt. Not like they could'a caught me anyway.

"I take off across the street, down the crosswalks, left, right, 'round the block, every turn I find – I don' even _know_ where I'm goin' at this point, I'm jus' runnin' through the city. I prob'ly got blood all over me but I don't even care who sees it. I know Boston; I ain't gettin' lost. I jus' gotta run off the rush an' make sure the Liberty fags can't find me. I'm soaked an' I feel like a fuckin' hero.

"An' then I passed by this little joint a couple blocks from the Commons that I pass on my mornin' runnin' route called Souper Salad. I'd usually take five, sit in, talk a bit with Bruce, chill a while before headin' the home lap. Sometimes he'd even slip me a sodie-pop on the house if the goin' was good. Great guy, Bruce. He may'a been old as balls, but he really knew how to help a guy, y'know?

"So I step inside an' the place is dead. I knock on the counter, Bruce shouts from the back, but I shout back an' he laughs 'cuz he knows it's me. He comes shufflin' out with a wood bowl an' a rag, an' then he sees the blood on me.

"He's like, 'Jesus Christ, boy, what happ'nna you? You been through hell'n back, by looks.' I jus' kin'a laugh an' grab a counter seat, tell'im the blood ain't mine this time. He goes, 'Ho boy, you best not'a been scrappin' with your brothers now,' an' I say naw, no scrappin', but I _did_ give this rich fag a face-lift.

"He shakes his head, but he's kinda half-smilin' too so he can't really be angry. He's like, 'Good God, boy, how many stale checks are you gonna let those fists o'yours write?' Whatever the hell _that's_ s'posed to mean. I tell'im to get off my case; he don't know what happened.

"He puts away the bowl and pulls out this old, brown pipe he's had since back when he served in the first World War. He still called it the Great War, too; the hell's up with that, right?

"So anyway, he gets all scowly an' junk an' says, 'Shucks, boy, I _never_ know what happened! That don't mean you can prance 'round all over Boston pickin' fights with the first person to look'acha funny.'

"I'm like, 'Bruce, you know there was more to it than that. C'mon.'

"He lights up his pipe an' goes, 'I know, boy, I know. I'm not tryin'a fix you or nothin', I'm just sayin' it so you know. Tryin'a talk the fight outta you would be like tryin'a talk the song outta Elvis. It's in your goddamned blood.' An' I kinda laugh at that 'cuz, I mean, he just compared me to Elvis.

"Then he finally asks what happened, an' I tell him everythin'. An' then, Jesus, _then_ he asks me the real question, 'So where's y'r bat now?'

"Holy shit, did I freak. It was still at th' fuckin' diamond! I'd high-tailed it outta there so fast I'd forgotten to grab it. I was gonna go back, too, but Bruce caught me.

"He says, 'Whoa, boy, I wouldn't if I was you. If these Liberty boys've found your bat already they'll be waitin' for you. Best let sleepin' dogs lie.'

"I ain't about to leave my fuckin' bat with th' Liberty chumps, but Bruce kinda had a point. I'd be jumped if I went back, or Nathan's cop dad could be there waitin' for me. An' y'know, that wouldn't be so bad if he was, I jus' didn't want the cuffs on me 'til I got to tell my brotha's about the shit I jus' pulled.

"Bruce's puffin' his pipe, shakin' his head. 'Stale checks, son. Slate checks,' he says, an' I finally ask'im what the hell he's talkin' about.

"He goes, 'It means you've done a lo-o-otta shit since I met you, boy, an' you ain't got a lot done back to you. One'a these days, son, karma's gonna catch up t'yer slimy ass an' beat it black an' blue.'

"Okay, A), Ew. Like, eight different kinds'a nasty quee' right there. An' second, fuckin', Bruce keeps bringin' his stupid karma shit back into this. I keep tellin'im, I ain't gotten nothin' 'cuz I'm un-freakin'-touchable. Someone out there still likes me. But, he just shakes his head at me. 'Bad karma,' he keeps sayin'. I swear, the guy's paranoid, or some shit.

"I remember kinda glancin' up at the clock but it said it was, like, 3:45 or som'n. He never changes his clocks for Daylight Savings. Weirdo.

"But anywho, so then he leans in real close an' says, 'Listen to me, son, you're a good kid. I _know_ you're a good kid. You're smart. All I'm sayin' is, be careful. Good luck comes naturally to some people an' you might be one of those people. An' if you are, then that's wonderful. But. If you use this good luck as a crutch and start _expecting_ it to come, it won't. Lady Luck's just like every other woman in the world; she'll go to bed with you plenty, but never when you ask her to.'

"I tell 'im its too late for that, even if I _was_ gonna rethink it all. Then he says 'Right, you can't change what's happened, but the ordeal's just begun. You messed some kid up bad, now what if you messed him up too bad to fix?'

"I know what he means, an' I said _if_ he's dead, then good. Fucker deserved it. Then Bruce shakes his head an' says, 'No, son. I mean, what if he's _dead?_'

"An' that's when I figure out what he's try'na say. If Nathan's dead, that makes me a murderer. An', like, I just murdered the Police Chief's son.

"Now, I should prob'ly be worried. For some reason, though, the whole irony of it makes me laugh. Like, it's funny, but in a sick kinda way. Like, y'know how they say, if someone knows they're about t'die, they get this real morbid kinda happy-go-lucky thing goin' in their minds? It may'a been som'n like that.

"Course, Bruce is prob'ly starin' at me like I just went bonkers. If he can even _see_ anythin' through all the smoke around his head. Bruce always did smoke too much, I thought. I couldn't even barely breathe when he pulled that damn pipe out. But hey, who'm I t'stop him?

"Anywho, I chill out an' Bruce tells me I'm prob'y goin' t'prison, even if I didn't kill Nathan. I wave it off cuz I _know_ that. Hell, I'm _ready._ Bruce shakes his head again. I guess he thought I didn't understand what shit I was in for. An' who knows, maybe I didn't. I mean, I said I was ready for it, but... I dunno. I guess... maybe I hadn't thought things through. Maybe I hadn't really thought about the worst-case scenario or the aftermath as thoroughly as I should've. Maybe. All I know right now is shit went down; I dunno yet if I'm'unna regret it.

"I think Bruce knew what I was thinkin' because he kinda patted me on the shoulder an' gave me that weird smile old folks give you when you're shit's hit the fan an' they know it too, but they wancha t'feel better.

"Then he says this to me. He says, 'Look, kid, I wouldn't think on it too much if I was you. You'll just feel worse about it. Like, see, this whole shit-storm here?' Then he looks outside an' says, 'It's pretty bad, yeah, an' you could've been a little better prepared for it, but hey, it's happening now, an' pretty soon it'll be over. No storm lasts forever, right? An' once it's over, guess what? The streets'll be clean, the roofs'll be shinin', the air's gonna have that cool, fresh feel to it, an' there's gonna be a big, beautiful rainbow in the sky.'"

A slight shift occurs in the mercenaries who are listening. They know.

Scout pretends he doesn't notice and continues.

"Bruce says, 'Everyone goes through a shit-storm'r three in their lives, an' some shit-storms'r worse than others. An' who knows? You might come outta this one alright. You might walk outside an' _see_ that big, beautiful rainbow waitin' for you. But here's what you gotta keep in mind, son. There's no such thing as Fate, or destiny, or any of that gypsy crap. You gotta take control of this if you wanna come out okay, you hear me? Lady Luck can give you every chance in the world, but if all you do is watch those chances fly away, then you _won't get_ no rainbows. But if you can't keep your own nose clean, then at least make sure your family doesn't take the brute force of what you've done. Because this will affect them.'

"I didn't say anything... I mean, what am I _s'pose_ t'say? Exactly, so I don't.

"Then he suddenly throws in, 'Hey, don't worry about it. If shit hits the fan, you'll clean it up. I know you will.'

"We don't say much for a while. It takes me that long to realize storm's been louder'n hell this whole time an' I didn't even remember hearin' it pick up. But whatever. I may've said somethin' about it. Bruce may've said som'n back. I really dunno.

"Then it hits me that Ma's prob'ly hearin' this shit-storm too an' worryin' her ass off over me. So I pull up my coat collar an' get ready t'leave even though Bruce says I should prob'ly stay inside 'til the whole thing blows over. I'd like to, but I really don't want Ma worryin' an' makin' her damn ulcers worse, y'know? And, more importantly, I gotta tell the guys what I did! So I wave to Bruce an' leave.

"But when I get outside an' throw my coat hood up, somethin' weird happens, an' I kinda feel... like, giddy. Like, I'm not _scared_'re nothin', but just... like, I can feel the chilly air on my back an' on my neck, an' it's rubbin' me in all the wrong places. I shake it off, fuckin' grow a pair, an' head home. The whole way, though, my hands're shakin' an' I can't frickin' stop 'em. I have to frickin' cross my arms under my armpits to keep 'em still, an' _that's_ not even workin'. An' it didn't help that that rain coat was, like, seriously baggin' on me. I was freezin' my ass off, man. An' Souper Salad ain't close t'home, either.

"Oh, an' it got worse. Every time someone walked past me on the sidewalk I'd jump a mile high. Every car that drove up or down the road, I couldn't stop myself lookin' up at it. An', God, if it was a Ford, I frickin'—ghah, Jeez... alright, alright, I was _a little_ scared. Maybe. Okay? I ain't proud of it, but I was fuckin' tense as a brick the whole way home. It wasn't until I heard the ambulance sirens off in the distance that I fuckin' lost my shit'n booked it the rest of the way.


	5. Part 4

**Author's Notes**

First and foremost, this isn't the last chapter. There's at least one more part to Scout's tale, and then an epilogue.

Thanks to all of you who have read this story since I first posted it on TF2chan. And to those who have, I must apologize; I am 17, the mods found out, so I won't be back on TF2chan until July. Shit sucks, but whaddaya do? It just means I'll have tons and tons of stories to share come my 18th birthday!

Lastly, and most importantly! I have had a second beta (*coughmydadcough*) read this story and give me some exceptionally helpful feedback. He caught a _HUGE_ mistake in the tale that happens in this chapter (something that should've been mentioned in the very beginning). That being said, consider this entire story to be a rough draft. Beta mode, if you will. Once the whole thing's done, I'mma go back and give it a full makeover. The story's not gonna change, mind you, but it will make for much smoother reading.

EDIT To a certain Anonymous commenter: I know I've made you all wait a very long time for this installment. I know it's not much. I'm _sorry_ it's not much. No, really, I am. But the fact is that I am a perfectionist. I like this story, and I don't want to fuck it up after I've done so well on it. If I rush to finish it, I will inevitably fuck it all up and send the story's believability down the crapper. Would you rather I finish this story sooner and have the end be nothing more than a steaming pile of dog shit? Or would you rather sit tight for another week or so, accept that I only have so many hours a day to spend on writing, and then get a finale that makes it all well worth it? Because this isn't the only story I'm working on. Oh, and I find that your need to be Anonymous for that comment was nothing less than cowardly. If you're going to complain, then complain to my face so I can _at the very least_ explain myself to you one-on-one. It's disrespectful, and it doesn't exactly get me motivated to finish the story. /EDIT

EDIT2 I now have a Tumblr, my TF2chan fans. (http:/ lightninghasnoshadowyoumoron . tumblr . com/) Follow, check me out, and help me settle in if you like.

Valentine's Day on Monday, folks. Comment and tell me how much you love me. Comment, or Saxton Hale will find you.

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"I caught my breath before goin' inside; didn't want that fresh 'bash'em-upside-the-head-an'-run-like-ya-stole-som'n' look, y'know? So I get inside, lock the door, shuck off my shoes an' my raincoat. Ma's asleep on the couch right where I left her. Johnnie, Chris, an' Greg're eatin' soup an' tradin' baseball cards at the kitchen table. They look up at me, I nod back. Greg kinda asks where th'hell I've been, but obviously he doesn't really give a care, but hell. I said I'd tell'im once Vince and whoever else gets back from the job, cuz it's a frickin' epic story. 'Course, they don't buy it, an' loving, _brotherly,_ remarks fly before I just toss 'em the 'whatever' bird an' head down the hall to the bedroom. They'll pummel me for it later, but fuck it, I'm too tired an' too wired on adrenaline to give a shit.

"Which is real fuckin' strange, by the way. It's like in the middle of a fight _here_ – you guys know what I'm talkin' about, right? – when we've been, like, at it for hours an' it's midnight, but there's still, like, explosions everywhere? Right? Like you wanna fuckin' hit the sack right there in the dirt, but you can't cuz your legs need't fuckin' _run_ or som'n? It was like that, kinda... Or maybe it wasn't. I dunno. Get off my case, it happened, like, five years ago, a'ight? I don't remember everything!

"But anywho. Joey's on his bed readin' some book for English or som'n. He looks up an' jumps, then get all, 'Jesus, man, don't creep in on me like that. Thought you were Mike for a sec there.'

"I'm all like, 'Fuck you, Joe, not my fault you can't tell us apart,' an' he's all, 'go sniff a bike seat,' an' I just flip'im off an' fall on my mattress.

"Then he asks if I know where Mike's at. Ain't he at work? Nope, parlor closed early today, he should'a been home by now. Whatever, he's prob'ly hangin' out with the guys. _His_ guys, I mean.

"I shuck off my shoes an' socks 'cuz they're all—"

Scout paused when Engineer waved his finger up. "Sorry, Son, but jes' t'clarify: what you said t'Joey, 'bout not tellin' you an' Michael apart..."

Scout's brows knit together, then his eyes suddenly lit up. "Oh! Yeah, I totally forgot to tell you guys! Okay. Okay, so like, yeah. Mike an' I? We ain't twins're nothin', 'cuz he has a couple years on me, but we look a helluva lot alike. Like we _could'a_ been twins. An' I was tall for my age back then, so it was even better. Like, if we wore the same stuff an' didn't talk, everyone at my school'd think we was, like, clones. I mean, my brotha's knew 'cuz they're my brotha's, but almost no one else could tell us. Can't believe I forgot t'tell you guys that! That's why we always run the errands an' shit together. We _loved_ fuckin' around with people."

Engineer nodded.

"So... yeah. What was I sayin' before—shoes'n socks, right. So, I throw off my socks 'cuz they're soaked an' freezin', an' I throw'em on Joey's pillow. 'Course he chucks 'em back in my face, all pissed that I made'im lose his page, but whatever.

"He asks where the hell I've been, I jus' kinda say I was out'n about, then he's like 'Out? In'at shit storm out dere? Why ain'cha'll soaked'n junk?'

"Raincoat, dumbass, an' he's all 'oh, right, yeah.'

Scout's head sank into his hand as he spoke.

"Fuck if I ain't... gah, whatever — Anywho! So, like...Vince'n Derek finally get home an' we all pull up a chair, grab some soup. Ma's still out on the couch, Mike's wherever Mike's at, an' who th' hell knows where Dad's at. We're talkin' an' junk, Joey's writin' some sappy-soap love letter to his girl, or he prob'ly is, I dunno, an' _then..._ an' then, I get my turn an' tell the guys that, thanks to yours truly, we got our diamond back.

"An' oh-man, did they _freak_ when I said that. Holy shit man, what happened, whacha' talkin' about? I'm like 'Chill, chill, re-_lax._ Now, allow me to tell you, my brotha's, the most epic story of payback in the _history_ of epic stories... Of payback.' Yeah.

"An'... Y'know, I told 'em everythin' I told you guys. I kinda wanted to wait for Mike so I could tell him too, but... Hell... I thought I'd have all the time in th' world to tell'im. Y'know, he wasn't there, the guys wanted th' dirt, an' damnit, I wanted to give'em the dirt. I figured I could tell'im tomorrow..."

Scout paused for the barest moment, squeezed his eyes shut, and sighed a shaky sigh.

Soldier had not been interested in Scout's teary-eyed sob-story at first. Any man that _cried,_ in the presence of a _rainbow_ of all things, was a spineless hippie that wasn't worth the steam of Soldier's piss. He only found himself listening because everyone else was; no one left to talk to. However, when Scout had offhandedly gestured to him earlier, when he was talking about the blind fury of battle taking over one's higher thought, it had made him feel... made him feel... he didn't quite know the word for it. Hearing that Speedy Gonzales had grown a pair and personally laid the beat-down on those washed-up Commies that dared call themselves Liberty when no one else would... that had made him a bit... was it proud? Either proud or impressed. (Granted, Soldier would've done it with a sawed-off shotgun rather than a bat, but still.) Maybe Scout wasn't as spineless as he looked.

Soldier had heard the falter in Scout's voice, though; he'd heard how solemn Scout got. It didn't bode well in Soldier's book.

Scout shook his head and continued.

"But, uh... yeah. I told 'em everythin'. An', y'know, they fuckin' loved it, man. I was a hero. The guys were all slappin' me on the back, high-fivin' an' shit, all that. An'... fuck it... I loved it, man.

"W'll, everyone but Derek, actually. Derek didn' look too excited about it. He tried to chew me out on how I was gonna get thrown in th' slammer an' all, but I told'im, I wasn't stupid. I knew what I did, an' I was ready for jail. Hell, I _dared_ the heat t'lock me up. They could do their worst for all I cared. Derek didn' like it.

"The guys were all over it though. Greg pulled out a couple drinks, passed'em around, an' we celebrated Liberty's 'biggest loss ever'. Hell, they _toasted_ to it. Who fuckin' toasts anymore! But... like, they toasted to _me._ An'... an'... fuck, man... I couldn'a felt more _alive_ when they did that, y'know? I felt awesome, an' happy, an' _great,_ an'... just... I was a hero. I was a fuckin' king.

"I just wish... y'know... I just wish Mike could'a been there, too, but..."

Scout sniffed and wiped his eyes, even though there were no tears to wipe.

"But yeah. We were wakin' Ma up, so we had t'clean up an' turn in. But nobody was try'na sleep, 'cept Derek I guess. We kept talkin' in our room, jus' propped up on our elbows an' whisperin' an' stuff. They couldn' wait t'finally get the diamond back, even if it wasn't, like, 'ours' anymore. They were as pissed about that as I was, too. But now that Liberty was outta th' way, we'd jus' hafta give it some fresh scuffs is all. Tomorrow was Saturday, too, so we knew _exactly_ what we were gonna be doin' all day. Even better, the storm was gonna make the dirt all muddy'n junk, so we'd definitely be mud-fightin', too. Hell, we were gonna tear it up so bad it'd be like all that 'classy-scum' was never even there. It was gonna be great, an' we... an' we couldn't wait t'tell... Mike all about it. I couldn't wait..."

Scout fell silent, closed his eyes, and put his head down. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he couldn't find the right words to express his thoughts. He sat that way for a while, head down, eyes on the fire, refusing to let his teammates see him in such a weak state. No one spoke up or asked questions; there was no rush.

Then, after what felt like hours, Scout slid his headset around his neck, took off his cap, and ran his calloused fingers through his hair.

"I'm not... I'm not gonna— Like, I can't— I can't _talk_ about _alla_ dis... like I — huhhh... Jus'... jus' work wit' me here a bit, a'ight? Five years an' I still ain' really gotten over alla this.

"So... alright, I... I wake up, next day... an' I'm alone in the room. I hear someone at the door talkin'. I'm only half-awake so I crawl over an' peek out the door. Now, like, the hallway our bedroom's in, you can see the front door from in the hall, 'cuz it's like, straight out there. So when I look out, I see alla my brotha's standin' around the front door, an' there's – a fuckin' – _cop_ – talkin' to 'em. I zip right back inna my room 'cuz hell, I wasn't really _expecting_ that this early in the morning.

"Nobody didn't see me though, so I jus' kinda... snuck back inna bed and acted asleep, tried to listen to what was goin' on. Didnt get much from behind a closed door, but from what I _could_ figure, they sure as hell wasn't talkin' about me.

"I shouldn'ta been so goddamned relieved about that. I really shouldn't have, but, I was... an' I didn't – fuckin' – _know_ yet...

"I hear someone comin' back to the room, an' they sound, like... really upset. But stupid little me still wants to play asleep. Fuck knows why. But when they stop in the doorway, they suddenly gets all hush-hush on me. I hear'em like, 'Should we tell him? Should we wake him up or somethin'?'

"Then, someone puts they're hand on my shoulder an' shakes me a bit. So I pretend to wake up. I roll over an' see Derek lookin' down at me, an'... he... He looks like it's takin' every shred of power he's got in him to keep from... like... breakin' down right there..."

Scout sighed, and the breath was short and stuttered. His control was slipping, little by little.

"Derek looks me in the eye... an' he says... 'Mike's dead.'"


	6. Part 5

**Author's Notes**

Last chapter is shortest chapter, what the hell? Okay okay, maybe I _was_ a bit eager to submit the last chapter. Well, okay I was very eager. I'll merge them later, how 'bout that?

I was scared of writing the final part. I shit you not, I was. I'm still scared about how I did. It's the powerful, emotional chapter along with the Epilogue, and I've never really written anything like that before. I hope I have done this story justice! It's finally done!

Am I going to write more of these for the other eight? The answer is, I plan to. I have ideas for Heavy, Medic, and Sniper, but so far that's about it. If there's any specific trait or fact about any of the character's you've wondered about, please let me know. I need ideas. Seriously! Tell me what you want explained! I won't be able to write for all of them of course, but they will definitely help me out. (And don't say things like 'Demo's missing eye' or 'Who the hell was 'Irene?' I've already tossed these out.)

Again, comment! I am a comment monster. I love comments. Comment so I can stay well-fed and able to write!

PS: I'll be re-writing this entire story! You will find it on _**my Tumblr**_, (http:/www. lightninghasnoshadowyoumoron . tumblr . com) when I finish it! I will also post all sorts of little one-shots and story updates there! *coughformyTF2chanreaderscough*

* * *

A ripple of silent shock fell over the mercenaries. Pyro threw both hands over his mask filter.

"What the hell was he talkin' about! I was like 'what the hell?' and I shouldn't have said that because Derek said it _again,_ an' I'm up sayin' 'What? What the hell are you on, Derek? Mike ain't dead, what the hell's— what're you talkin' about!'"

Scout's eyes were fixated on the campfire, confused, scared, and slightly frantic.

"I forgot about everything; I ran to the cop and fuckin' _yelled_ at him. I wanted to know what the hell was goin' on, where the hell was Mike!

"Said they found him this morning in the abandoned warehouse offa Pinckney. I was fu—" Scout swallowed. "I was fuckin' - _there,_ - man. Cop won't let us go an' see him even though Ma's, like, _dying on the couch_ an' cryin', an' everyone's startin' to crack; fuck if he's gonna stop _me._ I grab my coat in all the fuss, run back inna the room, climb out the window an' jump down the fire escape catwalks. I didn't even care that I only had my coat an' pants an' no shoes, who the fuck gives a shit?

"I'm flyin' through Boston not even carin' that my feet're tearin' up. Don't even care how the wet as hell air's freezin' my ass off. I get to Pinckney, there's cop cars all over, shit if I care, I charge inside before I know what I'm doin'. The cops people catch up to me an' try t'pull my ass out, but hell if I'm lettin'em! I start shoutin' shit at 'em about my brotha, I need to find him an' prove that goddamn cop wrong because he's _not fuckin' dead—... An' then..._"

Scout's slightly-trembling hands wiped his eyes, and it was clear that he was no longer worried about how he looked to his teammates. His mind was no longer just telling a story, but reliving a nightmare.

"I see... ho gahd... th'... they were right... the rumors were all right... they _don't_ fuck around... ho my gahd... kn-knives... were _everywhere_... an' _blood,_ an'... Christ, all that goddamned _blood!_ An' I see him, an'... jesus, Mike...! It-looks-like-_me!_ I'm some kinda ghost lookin' at my own self, but it's not because it's _Mikey!_ It was supposed to be _me!_ It was _supposed_ to be me! But it was _Mikey! What'd he do! Why fuckin' Mikey!_"

Scout took a few shallow, restrained breaths.

"An' then... An' then somethin' hits me... somethin' really bad. Really, _really_ bad. I swear to the cops I ain't gonna touch nothin', so they loosen up. I hafta call one'a the ladies takin' the pictures, an' I ask if she can look at the tag on his coat, read the initials. So she does, and she reads 'em back to me... an'... an' I can't move. I wanna get the fuck _outta_ there because if I keep lookin' at him then it's all fuckin' _real_ but I can't fuckin' _leave him_ because he's my fuckin' _brother_ an' he _needs my help;_ I didn't _mean_ it, I didn't _mean it,_ this wasn't supposed to fuckin' _happen_ like this — an' I'm runnin' outta the warehouse because I-can't-look-at-him.

"I wanna go home, but I can't go home. I wanna run away, but I can't run away. I wanna find Bruce, but I can't figure out where the hell I am, I'm just runnin'. I wanna find Ms. Gibus, but she's home. I can't go to Christopher Columbus because they're prob'ly still investigatin' there, too.

"So I run. I just– keep runnin'. Through Boston. I dunno what else I can do.

Scout breaths, eyes squeezed shut until his composure is more of less stable.

"As I'm runnin'... I notice som'n up in th' sky... so I look."

Scout paused, swallowed.

"The shit-storm passed. And I came out of it un-... Khmm... un-freakin' touched. Because I'd gone an' grabbed Mike's light-weight bat, and worn Mike's rain jacket. I was in such of a rush to kill Nathan, I wasn't even payin' attention to...

"I couldn't believe what I was fuckin' seeing. What the hell kinda right did that — _thing_ — have to be all shinin' in the sky! It's a fuckin' _happy_ thing, an' my fuckin' brotha's jus' been _stabbed to death_ an' it thinks it can just — _be there_ — when my brotha's just been _murdered!_

"I tried t'run away from it, but, it wouldn't fuckin' — _go away!_ Everywhere I went, it was there! It was fuckin' followin' me, it was fuckin' _rubbin' it in—_ it was all _my fault—_"

He stopped there, knowing that if he continued, he'd lose it. He breathed in deep, breathed out. Two thin trails of tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped off his chin. His hands tensed, but didn't move.

"Rai—... Rainbows make me cry beca-ause... they remind me that my brother was mu-urdered... instead of me... and tha-at 'Lady Luck' is a fucking _cunt._"

Scout gasped, stood abruptly, and walked as fast as he could away from the campfire, muttering something about not being hungry anymore.

And then he was gone. The tale was over. And no one spoke.


	7. Epilogue

**Author's Notes**

Epilogue! Longer than the final chapter, wth? Oh shut up and read it, you know you want to.

Am I going to write more of these for the other eight? The answer is, I plan to. If there's any specific trait or fact about any of the character's you've wondered about, please let me know. I need ideas. Seriously! Tell me what you want explained! I won't be able to write for all of them of course, but they will definitely help me out. (And don't say things like 'Demo's missing eye' or 'Who the hell was 'Irene?' I've already tossed these out.)

_**EDIT**_

I have made my solid decision on Heavy's, Medic's, and Sniper's stories, so there is no need to suggest anything more for them.  
"Devushka Sasha and Leibe Natascha" — Why are Heavy's Miniguns named Sasha and Natascha? — Why did Medic, a sadistic and crazy doctor (i.e. the perfect candidate), _not_ join with the Nazis?  
"The Legend of Ol' Snaggletooth" — How did Sniper procure Darwin's Danger Shield, and its coupling hat, Ol' Snaggletooth? If all Australians are burly and moustache'd, then why is Sniper unusually lanky and clean cut?  
All of these soon-to-be-answered questions are 100% canon, even if the answers aren't. If you believe otherwise, or have any questions, then you can PM me or email me at viennaohvienna gmail . com

_**/EDIT**_

Again, comment! I am a comment monster. I love comments. Comment so I can stay well-fed and able to write!

PS: I'll be re-writing this entire story! You will find version 2.0 on _**my Tumblr**_, (http:/www. lightninghasnoshadowyoumoron . tumblr . com) when I finish it! I will also post all sorts of little one-shots and story updates there! *coughformyTF2chanreaderscough*

* * *

Medic's baffled eyes lingered on the fire, full of pity. "I had no idea..."

"Mrh nrhthrr..." Pyro hissed/whispered, and his body language suggested that he was on the brink of bursting into tears.

"Did anybody knoo?" Demoman murmured.

Sniper shook his head, dumbstruck. "I don't think Scout told anyone 'fore tonight..."

Soldier's and Engineer's expressions were unreadable. They merely shook their heads at the ground.

"Leetle Scout lost family... Is... very bad thing to remember..." Heavy mused. It almost sounded like he understood and shared Scout's pain.

Spy's expression was one of mortified, guilt-ridden disbelief.

It all made _sense._

As quickly as Scout had left, Spy departed from the group as well. He ignored his colleagues' startled cries, only one task rooted in his mind. Scout wouldn't want to talk to him, but Spy _could not_ simply let this go. He needed to _apologize._ For more than just the insults, for _everything._

Spy heard a distinct slam as he approached the barracks. It didn't hinder him. What he needed to say, he was _going_ to say, and Scout was going to listen. He entered the building and made for Scout's room, but as he approached and his hand opened, Spy stopped just before grasping the handle. Perhaps it was his instincts, but he didn't make his presence known just yet. He had head something, so he listened.

Sheets rustling, and light, muffled gasps. Not the usual gasps one heard coming from Scout's room at this hour, either.

Spy shook his head. What had he done?

His leather-clad knuckles knocked lightly on the industrial wood. He heard scrambling on the other side.

"Fuck off!" Scout snarled.

Spy insisted, "Scout, please, I must speak to you—"

"Wh– Spy? Oh, no— _you_ need t'get the hell _outta_ here! I'm fuckin' _done_ with you, ya snaily oil drum!"

Interesting choice of words. "Please, Scout, listen to me, I am sorry!"

A pause. Perhaps Scout _would_ hear him out?

"Get the hell away from me."

Spy narrowed his eyes.

TeuFort was one of the oldest territories they'd been fighting for, and therefore had the oldest barracks. The doors themselves were almost rotted away. It was no wonder to any of them how the rusted locks had all broken off years ago.

Spy felt no inhibitions about opening the door.

Scout hastily wiped his face with the covers and shot Spy the most hateful glare he could.

"What the hell're you doin'!"

"_I_ am trying to give you a proper apology. I sincerely had no idea—"

"Pssh, yeah right."

"How could I have known?"

"No, of _course_ you didn't know, ya moron, I ain't told anyone. But now you know. So leave me the fuck alone about it, why don'cha."

"You need not worry. Starting tomorrow, I will inform my counterpart. My God, Scout... I'm sorry..."

Scout blinked at him. "Okay, cut that out."

"But I am! I did not know, I... I did not know..."

Scout blinked again and sniffed. He gave Spy a once-over. Spy wasn't the apologizing type, and here he was practically begging Scout for forgiveness. But he wasn't really... it might have been his slightly jittery hands, but Spy almost seemed like he was dancing around something. Perhaps he _did_ understand what he'd done.

"Get in here an' close the door. I actually wanna talk t'ya about som'n."

Spy balked slightly, but he obliged. What was Scout up to?

The Bostonian shifted so he sat cross-legged on his bed. "Yeste'day... after they called ceasefire... I was out at the bridge when I ran into Blu-Fag. We didn't have no guns're nothin', so after we swore we wouldn't try anythin' if the othe' didn't, we kinda started talkin'. An' then he tells me about som'n weird that happened on the field yeste'day."

"... Go on..."

"He says yeste'day he was down in their base, right? He's passin' through the Lower Main Commons, an' he sees his Engie with his Level 3 all up an' beepin', an' his Engie asks him if he could do him a favor an' get him some more metal from those 'Authorized Personal Only' rooms, cuz the codes were glitchin' out all day yeste'day, remember? Respawn was bein' weird an' there wasn't any supplies poppin' up on the field, right?"

"... Yes, I... I remember zat..." Spy's tone was slightly suspicious.

"Right, so Blu-Fag says sure an' goes to get his Engie some, but as he's goin' through the boxes, he suddenly hears this huge _ZAP!_ from outside, an' his Engie yells 'Sentry down!'. But he says before he can get to th' door, it flies open an' his Engie flops in front of him with a hole in his helmet. Then he looks up an' sees you with your gun pulled at him, an' then boom, he's down."

Spy nods. "Oui, zis 'appened. But I do not see what—"

"I'm not done yet, there's more.

"He says that when he respawns, it's quiet. Like, scary quiet. No gunshots, no explosions, nothin'. He dunno how long he's been out, but first thing he thinks t'do is check the Intel, make sure it's still safe, right? So Blu-Fag goes to check."

Spy suddenly felt ice on his back.

"He told me... that, when he got to his Intel room... he didn't see their Intel... but he _did_ see his Soldier, his Heavy, and his Spy with his _head_ blown off, dead on the ground, an' his Sniper dead, slumped over the desk. But what _really_ caught his attention, was what he found scattered all over the floor."

Scout looked Spy dead in the eye. Spy hesitated, and looked away. He felt like the child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and it burned his ego like nothing else. That wasn't how he'd wanted Scout to find out.

"How long."

Spy looked up. Scout fixed him with a serious glare. Spy wasn't sure what he was asking at first.

"How. Long."

Then he knew. He had to dig deep through his memories, but he didn't have to dig long.

"A-bout five and a half years now."

Spy wasn't sure what he was expecting Scout to do — perhaps something violent, possibly involving bats or splintered wood — but whatever he thought would happen, it didn't. Scout's expression didn't change, but his eyes flicked down. His lips puckered, and he nodded slowly.

"M'kay..."

Like a father coming to terms with his disobedient son.

"An'..." Scout gestured with his hands, then let them drop. "You were never gonna tell me about this."

Spy didn't reply. Truth be told, he had very much wanted to tell Scout. Not to gloat, but because as one of her sons, Scout deserved to know. He simply hadn't known how to go about telling him. Considering how much Scout disliked him to begin with, Spy knew Scout wouldn't take the news well.

"I am, truly sorry, Scout..."

"It was your fault Ma started smokin', wasn't it."

A verbal punch to the stomach. He knew.

Spy's head fell into his hands with a defeated, miserable sigh. "I did not realize it would come to what it came to. Please, Scout, you must believe zat. I would have never let her near a cigarette if I had known she would—"

"You don't get it, Spy, do you?"

Spy looked up.

"You got my Ma smokin'. Smokin' gave Ma ulcers. Ulcers made us need t'buy medication."

Scout scrambled closer to Spy. "D'you know _why_ Mikey was out so late that night! D'you know _why_ Liberty found him instead'a me! Ma needed more pills 'cuz we was out, an' it was Mikey's turn to go the hour-long walk to the drug store! He forgets shit all the time, so he's always plannin' shit ahead'a time! He put all the drug money in his raincoat the night before so he wouldn't forget to bring it, but guess what! _I grabbed his raincoat thinkin' it was mine!_ That's why it was fuckin' baggin' on me! Mikey prob'ly got to the drug store an' panicked when he didn't have the money, so he booked it back home! But guess what! He didn't _get_ home!"

Scout was panting hard. "I can't... I can't blame you entirely for it... I still killed Nathan... but fuckin'... you almost killed my Ma with your fuckin' smokes! An' you're half the reason Mikey's dead!"

Spy was speechless. Scout just panted. It was silent for a very long time.

"An' y'know...? Blu-Fag prob'ly _was_ goin' after you today. 'Cuz _I_ fuckin' would be."

* * *

The night ended in silence. The campfire was extinguished, the plates were thrown away, and the instruments were stored for another day. Everyone was solemn as they turned in, even as covers were drawn and eyes slid shut. But even then, two minds did not let go.

One dreamt of his lover, bound in billowing smoke and bleeding from gaping holes in her midsection, crying, begging to know why he'd broken his promise to love her forever, to protect her.

The other dreamt of his brothers, grabbing at him in rage and dragging him out to his brother's dead body that bled rainbows, which came to life and stabbed him to death.

And their pain was real.

**THE END**


End file.
